


See Sense

by Azile_Teacup



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rugby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azile_Teacup/pseuds/Azile_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: sensory deprivation</p>
            </blockquote>





	See Sense

Arthur’s on his feet, yelling with the rest of the crowd, heart beating wildly, as Eames sails through the air, leaping out of Dom’s hands, gathering the ball to his chest. The crowd screams with joy, but then someone’s colliding with Eames and they’re falling and Eames crumples to the floor. Arthur hears the whistle go, somewhere, and he’s aware of how silent the crowd goes when Eames doesn’t leap back to his feet like he usually does. Arthur’s with them, tense and silent, waiting.

“It seems Eames is not… he’s not back on his feet. The ref is talking to Nash about the tackle, probably going to be a kick.”

Arthur listens for news on Eames, watching the screen which shows him on the floor surrounded by the team’s medics. Dom’s crouched by him, which means Eames isn’t okay. Arthur waits, barely breathing. Waits and waits.

“We have news about Eames, it seems to be a dislocated shoulder. Ouch. He won’t be playing the rest of this half. That’ll be bad for the team, Eames is-“

Arthur tunes it out. Eames will be going to the hospital, probably. Arthur gathers his things and makes his way back to the locker-rooms and out to the ambulance to wait for him. He sits on the back with the EMT for ten minutes before Eames is brought out on a stretcher.

“Hullo, darling,” Eames says, taking Arthur’s hand, voice soft and breathless with pain, “bloody hell, huh?”

Arthur squeezes his hand and climbs into the back with him.

**

Arthur soon learns to bring a book to Eames’ PT sessions, because if there’s nothing to occupy his mind Arthur finds himself replaying that moment of impact and obsessing over Eames’ injuries. Torn ACL and dislocated shoulder. Not the worst Eames has had on the field, but bad enough that Eames comes out of therapy pale and tired and not in any kind of mood except ‘bad’.

**

Watching Eames struggle through their flat on a crutch is hard. They’ve only lived together a few weeks and they’re still trying to get used to living around and with one another, and Eames being injured makes everything worse, including the arguments about socks and towels. Arthur asks Eames not to leave wet towels on the bathroom floor once and Eames yells until he’s hoarse, then retreats to the bedroom, slamming the door.

Arthur finds him in tears, in pain, feeling helpless because he can’t actually pick things up off the floor once he drops them without considerable difficulty. Arthur forgives him for the wet towels, even though he did it before he was injured, too, and soothes him.

**

PT soon becomes torture. As Eames heals he pushes himself harder and harder towards recovery, and the harder he pushes the more pain he’s in when he’s done. By the time Eames collapses at home after trying to do too much Arthur’s had enough. He gets Eames onto the sofa in a relatively comfortable position, feeds him painkillers, then sits on the floor with the ipad to do research.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Eames keeps murmuring, hand in Arthur’s hair, breath on his neck.

“Of course you are,” Arthur snaps, “because you always collapse. New usual thing for you.”

“I have not collapsed. My knee just… went on strike.”

“How’s the pain?”

“I’m high, it’s good.”

Arthur snorts. He turns his head to kiss Eames’ hand, though, forgiving him.

**

“I’ve found a local isolation tank,” Arthur says, over a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches.

Eames grunts. He’s in pain today but won’t admit it and take something for it. Arthur reaches over to rub his good shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Would you please at least take an aspirin?” Arthur says.

“I’m fine,” Eames says, taking a stubborn bite of his sandwich.

Arthur bites back his angry retort, because anger often leads to Eames getting angry which, these days, leads to Eames getting upset.

“Isolation tank,” Arthur continues, “I can drive you out there. I think it would be good for the pain.”

“I’m fine,” Eames repeats, clearly not listening.

“Alright,” Arthur says, “Let’s go for a drive, after lunch, then.”

Eames shrugs and grunts in pain as it jostles his bad shoulder. Arthur ignores it and goes on with his sandwich.

Later, Eames comes out of the tank looking a bit blissed out, grinning widely. He pulls Arthur into a hug.

“Thank you,” Eames says, kissing Arthur’s ear, “that’s amazing. I feel like a limp noodle.”

“Relaxing?”

“Yeah. God, it is amazing to not be in pain for a few moments.”

“Good. You have a session here twice a week, after PT.”

Eames beams at him.

**

"What's it like?" Arthur asks, one day after PT and the isolation tank.

They're in bed, Eames on his back, trying to relax and not need pain medication. Eames turns his head to face Arthur and smiles.

"Pain?" Eames asks, "it's like pain. It hurts. I hate PT, makes it hurt more."

"You're useless," Arthur says, rubbing Eames' stomach, "you could take something."

"I don't want to be high. I want to spend some time with you."

"Yeah, this is awesome fun for me. Watching you in pain is great."

Eames huffs.

"I didn't mean pain, I meant the isolation tank," Arthur says.

"Oh."

Eames is silent for a while, then he sighs and reaches out, feeling around on the bedside table until he finds his pills. Arthur waits for them to kick in before repeating his question.

"mm," Eames says, eyes a bit fuzzy, "that's better. Um, the tank. It's... it's good. I float, takes all pressure off my knee and shoulder. It's strange. It makes me stupid."

"Yeah, I noticed that," Arthur says, grinning, "you always say 'what' a lot after, and you forget _everything_."

"It's like a lot of thinking, like floating in the sea, it's... it's nice, being alone with just myself. Thought I'd hate that, but I don't."

"What do you think about?"

"You," Eames says, grinning wickedly, running a hand over Arthur's ribs, "what I'm going to do to you when I can finally move around without having to worry about hurting."

"Oh yeah?"

Eames laughs and shifts awkwardly so he can actually touch Arthur, then he kisses the skin he can reach, Arthur's fingers knuckle by knuckle.


End file.
